tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51215989308181304992024-03-12T17:21:13.026-07:00CelestinaLa Celestina is the title of a novel which is considered to be one of the greatest in Spanish literature.
I have chosen this name for various reasons: Like the character of Celestina, I believe I am a good match maker; Celestina is my great-grandmother's name and I am fond of the legendary stories told about her in my hometown, but mostly, because I want to become a writer and this is the name I plan to use when I become a published author.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-17882917716945504972008-05-18T18:11:00.000-07:002008-05-18T18:12:40.172-07:00Favorite Chapters IIChapter 3 from <strong><em>Best of Two Worlds</em></strong><br /><br />Yanira parked her car half a block down the road from Abuela's house, since cars lined both sides of the road and they didn't find an empty place. She left the ignition on and kept nagging him about his life decisions. "Maybe you can work for my father at the gas station."<br />"I'm not going to work for your father."<br />She rolled her eyes. "What will you do? You quit school."<br />"I don't know yet, but I got a card from a sports agent today. He said I could give him a call if I wanted to play in a competitive team."<br />She looked stunned. "A team? Rancy, sports are for children. You need a real job."<br />He stared at the dashboard of her brand new Mustang. How could he explain this to her? "I didn't know if I still had the game in me, but maybe if I talk to this agent he can help me get into a professional team. Players make tons of money. My mom always said that's where the millions are."<br />She rolled her eyes again and pursed her lips. "Only if you're an NFL player. Give it up, Rancy, it's only a dream. There's no money for sports in Puerto Rico. You'll die of hunger. Or worse, you'll be traveling around and sleeping with women while your wife stays at home. That's not the life I want for me."<br />He didn’t say more because he knew she was right.<br />She allowed him a peck on her lips. He got out of the car, promised to visit her later and she was gone. She'd just taken off when Tío Luis parked his car down the road. Rancy waited to greet him and his cousins. <br />"Wepa, muchacho! Como estás, Pai?" his uncle said, rubbing Rancy's hair.<br />"Todo bien," he replied. <br />"Rancy!" Merangie called. She was his age. "Votaste? I have reason to believe the results of this referendum will be very interesting." Ever since she started studying journalism, politics had become her favorite subject of conversation.<br />Rancy had no idea what she meant. According to Alex, they had the same three options: Statehood, Commonweath and Independence. Instead of asking for more details, he took the easy way out. "No, I didn't get a chance to vote, but I might go later." <br />"We went before mass," Merangie said, "but my uncle, you haven’t met him, he’s my mother's brother. He didn't vote. He's Independentista." <br />"Rancy," Nadjalie, Merangie's younger sister, came up to them and kissed his check. The sappy sisters, Rancy thought. At least Nadjie wasn't into politics. She was the youngest of his first cousins. When she was a baby her skin looked so translucent and her head so bald the cousins called her Casper, but as her hair grew long and thick it was evident she was going to be a beauty. Now, at eighteen she often got stares and whistles from all of his dirty-minded friends.<br />"What are you up to these days?" he asked her.<br />"I signed up for the Miss Puerto Rico pageant."<br />"Really?" he looked at her. Sure, she was pretty but a pageant? Tío Luis looked annoyed.<br />"She signed up instead of applying to med school," Merangie explained. <br />"Will you go see me at the pageant?" Nadjie asked.<br />Usually he would have jumped at the opportunity of seeing beautiful women in bathing suits, but he cringed at the idea one of those women being his cousin. He couldn't picture her in a tiny piece of fabric which would surely expose the good amount of family genes on her backside. "Let me think about it."<br />His aunt finally reached them and together they walked down the few steps to the happy little house which had stood through good weather and hurricanes for over fifty years.<br />"Miren quien llego!" Abuelo called out from the balcony. He was sitting on a rocking chair, with a plate of food on his lap. Rancy's mother and father were sitting on white plastic chairs close to Abuelo, drinking coffee. Anjamely, three of his aunts and uncles and a few cousins were scattered around the marquesina, the open carport, which was now used as a terrace since neither grandparent drove.<br />He knew Merangie and Natjalie would take their time kissing and hugging every single member of the family, and he was hungry. Instead of waiting he kissed Abuelo's cheek, kissed his mother, waved hello the rest of the family and rushed toward the kitchen to find Abuela. <br />Abuela cut pieces of white cheese and placed them on a tray with crackers. She had her back to the door as Rancy entered. He caught her off-guard and hugged the tiny strong figure of his grandmother.<br />She turned around startled. "Hijo!" and then touching Rancy's hair, "Is it raining outside? Estás moja'o."<br />"No, suda’o. I was playing basket."<br />She smiled looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. "You boys always with the balls on your hands." <br />Rancy laughed out loud, caught by surprise at such a joke coming out of the mouth of his very proper, very Catholic grandmother.<br />"Hungry?" she asked grabbing a plastic plate from the stack over the microwave and serving him spoonfuls of yellow rice.<br />"Ah, you know exactly what I want," he said and grabbed a fork. <br />"There's turkey and pork in the oven. Which one you want?"<br />"Both, I’m hungry. I'll grab it," he said so she wouldn't get burned from the oven.<br />"You're going to shower before eating?"<br />He grabbed a dinner roll and ate half in one bite. "Didn't bring any clothes," he said with his mouth full.<br />"I washed some the other day. Check in Abuelo's dresser."<br />"I'll shower after I eat. I've have to go back to the school, to vote."<br />"Ah, yes. Referendum. Your mother took me and your grandfather this morning. Results will start coming out on TV soon," she peaked her head out the door to look into the living room. "Merangie turned the TV on. You can watch."<br />"I think I'll go sit outside. Thanks, Abuela," he said and kissed her cheek. "Oh, by the way, happy Mother's Day."<br /><br />He passed by the living room on his way out. Merangie was sitting so close to the TV some of her hair caught by the static. The only other family members joining her in the living room were Tití Monsy and Merangely’s father, Tío Luis. They were arguing as if they were Capulets and Montagues, instead of the loving sister and brother everyone knew they were. <br />Merangie looked at Rancy with pleading eyes, as if asking him to do something to shut them up. Rancy shrugged, knowing there was nothing he could do. No one interfered with the aunts and uncles when they argued, especially if it was about religion or politics. He felt bad for his cousin after dismissing her earlier. <br />He looked out the window to the marquesina, where the cousins were singing and applauding the children who danced in the center, where the breeze made the air at least ten degrees cooler than inside the house, but instead of going out he crossed his eyes at Merangie, turned the wall fan on and sat next to her on the reclining chair. Not much seemed to be happening on the news, but Merangie seemed more at ease with his company. She turned back to the TV while Rancy dug into his plate and diverted himself with the argument taking place between his aunt and uncle.<br />"It's time for independence," Tío Luis argued.<br />"Independence will bring poverty. Look what happened to Cuba," Tití Monsy shouted back. "The only thing that saved us was the intervention of the United States."<br />"Their help was needed back in the 40's and 50’s when the depression hit us as hard and we couldn’t recover. Then Governor Luis Muñoz Marín met with President Roosevelt and they decided on the Commonwealth. Muñoz Marín knew the population was poor and hungry. We needed help but now the new generation is educated and can help us get ahead on our own," he gestured toward Merangie and Rancy. <br />"It's for them Puerto Rico should become a State. They get an education but what jobs will they find if the industries go away? How are the low and middle class students going to get educated without federal scholarships? True, Puerto Rico got ahead with Muñoz Marín, and then Kennedy wanted to make Puerto Rico a State, which would have been great but he didn't live to see the plan carried through. And look what has happened since then. One year a governor from the Statehood party wins and brings prosperity to the Island, and four years later a new governor from the Commonwealth gets elected and destroys everything the previous governor did. We are stuck in a mediocre economy and we are not going to advance until the status gets resolved."<br />Rancy had heard the argument a thousand times, with some members of the family siding with Tití Monsy, some with Tío Luis but most of them taking the neutral ground and supporting the Commonwealth. Rancy also favored the latter. He didn't mind the relationship with the United States. It had benefits. His scholarship, for once, and traveling back and forth the States, but he wasn't at all like the gringos. His heart was Puerto Rican. Boricua de pura cepa, like the sugar cane.<br />He finished his meal and put the plate on the side table.<br />"I can't believe you didn't vote," Merangie said, making him turn to face her.<br />"I'll go later. Why are you so worked up about it?"<br />"Well, for one, it decides the future of the Island."<br />"No, it doesn't. What difference does it make? You've heard your father arguing with Tití Monsy, and it's the same way with everybody else. Forty five percent of the population favors the Commonwealth and forty five percent favor the Statehood party. Only about six percent favors independence, but if it seems the Statehood is going to win, then the Independentistas vote for Commonwealth, so the Commonwealth always wins." <br />"Not this time," she said and bit her lower lip.<br />"Okay, tell me. What do you know?"<br />She smiled and her eyes brightened. "I'm not supposed to talk much about this, but I'll tell you."<br />Randy sat next to her on the floor in front of the TV. He stared at the TV while she looked at him as she spoke.<br />"I'm taking this class, Seminar in Journalism, and had to interview politicians for my final paper. My assigned topic was the pollution left by the Marines in Vieques after their removal."<br />"One more chance for the Independentistas to piss off the Americans," Rancy blurted, though he didn't care either way. It wasn't cool to have the Marines testing bombs in an island inhabited by people, but he wasn't in the Marines and he didn't live in Vieques. Tití Monsy insisted they should have left the Marines stay, because they brought protection to the Island, while Tío Luis argued they were destroying natural resources and killing the town's inhabitants, accident or no accident.<br />"I interviewed some dignitaries at Fortaleza and a comment escaped one of them regarding the death of the leader of the activist group."<br />"You mean when the FBI captured the guy who killed the sailors?"<br />"That's what I think he was talking about, but I wasn't sure because he was hushed by another member of his political party. The attack on the sailors happened before we were born, but the leader of the activists wasn’t captured until the FBI found him a couple of years ago."<br />"He murdered people. They shot him when he tried to escape."<br />"Remember, to the Independentistas he was a patriot, a war hero."<br />"Yeah, I suppose, if you look at it that way."<br />"Well, I was curious about the comment. I decided to keep on bringing the subject to other Independentistas. People in my family, neighbors, friends from college… and I wrote my final paper based on my theories."<br />"Which are?"<br />"The Independentistas claimed they were going to get revenge for the death of the activist leader. We all expected a blood bath, a bomb planted somewhere or something along those lines."<br />"Right. Mami didn't want me going out that entire week."<br />"Nothing like that happened, but it seems the Independentistas reached an agreement among themselves, which was not revealed to the press or even to the general public."<br />"Tell me," Rancy said, his eyes focused on every expression of her face. He wished he had that kind of passion for a 'real' profession.<br />"I believe they're going to boycott the referendum. Some of them will not vote, while some will vote for the Independent party."<br />"That's what they should do, anyway. Why is it a boycott?"<br />"Because the governor in house at the time their leader was murdered was from the Commonwealth."<br />"Oh, God! You mean…"<br />"I don't know if he knew, but the Independentistas are still pissed off." <br />Rancy held his breath. "This is big, isn't it?"<br />Merangie nodded. "Huge."<br />"So, what's going to happen?"<br />"The Commonwealth is on its own this time. From what I've heard it seems the Independentistas want to prove to the Commonwealth they can't keep on winning without them. They also want to prove to the Statehood party even if they win a referendum it doesn't mean the President and Congress will be willing to make Puerto Rico a State. I'm afraid their strategy could backfire. I think you should vote if you get a chance."<br />"I will."<br />"But for me," she said smiling, "my professor was impressed by my paper and she offered me a summer internship before I go to graduate school."<br />"Que cool! Good for you!" He didn't hug her, but she hugged him. <br />"Yeah, I'm happy. Just don't tell anyone about this. My professor said we have to wait until after the referendum, until we have concrete proof before we can attempt to publish an article like this."<br />Rancy looked around the living room. The only noise came from the TV, because Tití Monsy and Tío Luis were quietly listening to their conversation. Not only them, Abuela was halfway out of the kitchen. Rancy’s mother was standing by the front door and the cousins sitting on the balcony were talking in hushed voices. Since they all lived in different sections of town, he knew by nightfall the news was going to breach the outskirts of Moca and by next Sunday at mass a perplexed Merangie was going to receive congratulations on her appointment as anchor woman of the evening news.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-31366824309230711652008-05-18T18:06:00.000-07:002008-05-18T18:23:29.276-07:00Favorite ChaptersChapter 7 from <em><strong>The Aimee Doll</strong></em><br /><br />It is a gloomy afternoon for the children of the orphanage to be burying their mother. The sky doesn’t make up its mind on whether it’s going to rain or not, sending some drops of rain now and then. The wind blows for a few minutes, making the air cold, then it stops, silencing everything into dead calmness and allowing humidity to set in. Sister Mary Helen rests her hand on Aimee’s shoulder but Aimee removes her coat, not caring about getting out of the way the tender hand on her shoulder. Aimee takes a step away from everyone. No one notices, except the little girl with tangled black hair who stares at her with hatred. She wonders if little Bianca can read her thoughts. She seems to know exactly what is going on through her mind.<br />"I want this to be over. I want to get out of here."<br />Everyone turns at the sound of an approaching carriage, except for Aimee. Everyone seems surprised at seeing the new guest, including Sister Mary Helen, but Aimee is not interested in looking. Her eyes focus on the wooden casket with the wild flowers the children had thrown on top.<br />"If I still worked at the hospital, I would have bought her a more decent casket. She would have sweet smelling roses on her coffin."<br />Aimee is so immersed in her own thoughts she barely feels the hand that reaches out to hold hers, until she hears a soft sounding voice whisper close to her ear,<br />“You are right, there is no way to repay the debt.”<br />This time Aimee turns and looks into Nely’s tearful eyes. <br />"But I thought I burnt the letter," she thinks to herself but doesn't speak. She begins to squeeze Nely’s hand, but instead she lets go of it and once again steps away. <br />Someone talks behind her and she turns around at the familiar voice. Alex. Aimee smiles at him, but when he reaches to embrace her she turns away from his open arms.<br />Justin stands next to Nely. He offers his condolences, but she doesn’t reply. She turns her back to the group and looks toward the ground again as the first shovel of soil is thrown onto the coffin. It’s over. Now I can go... Where? Home? <br />She walks.<br />Sister Mary Helen greets the newcomers. “She hasn’t been herself. She’s very sad, but trying to be strong for everybody else.” Sister Mary Helen gathers the children and they follow Aimee back to the house.<br /><br />They sit in the dinning room, the only place in the house large enough to hold visitors. The children are in bed. They were sent to their rooms after a light supper. No reading this night, for they were very tired after the day’s events.<br />Aimee looks at the visitors and once again wonders how they found out about Miss Judy’s death. "I burnt the letter, didn’t I?"<br />Sister Mary Helen returns from the children’s dormitories and sits close to Nely. “Nely, it’s so nice to see you again. Tell me, what is it like to be back here after so many years?”<br />“It certainly is nice to be back, but I can not get over how small this place seems,” Nely says looking around. “I used to think this was a large house when I was a little girl growing up here.”<br />"You have grown used to a bigger house," Aimee wants to reply but doesn’t, mostly because she also was surprised to see how small the place seemed the first time she came back. The exception is, unlike Nely, she kept coming back and the smallness of the house doesn’t surprise her anymore.<br />“Aimee,” Alex says, “we want to know if we can help.”<br />“Yes, Aimee,” says Justin this time. “We had no idea of what was going on, or we would have come earlier.”<br />“Justin says I can come during the day, while him and Alexander go to work at the bank. I can help out with the children and the chores. It will be nice to spend time here again, Aimee.”<br />"You wouldn’t know how to do chores," Aimee wants to say. "Your lady hands would never be able to stand washing dishes or doing the laundry with ice-cold water."<br />“Aimee, isn’t it nice of them to offer their help?” Sister Mary Helen asks.<br />"Extremely." Aimee stands up and goes to the mirror on the wall, the only unbroken mirror in the house, and only because the children are not tall enough to reach it. She stands in front of the mirror but doesn’t see her reflection. She stares at her eyes and remembers Mrs. Braxton looking into them.<br />“Every time I look at you Aimee, I am reminded of my regrets,” Mrs. Braxton had said.<br />Aimee looks defiantly at her own eyes. Well, I won’t have any regrets.<br />Then she remembers Miss Judy’s words, “We all have to go on a journey in our lives.”<br />A journey, Aimee thinks. <br />She turns and looks at the crowd, who are waiting for her answer. “No, I don’t need help. I’m going on a... I am going away for a little while.”<br />“But Aimee,” Sister Mary Helen interrupts.<br />“Only for a week, Sister. I need to find something here first, then I’ll be gone for a week, and at the end of that week I’ll come back... here.”Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-34431345236671220512008-01-09T11:29:00.000-08:002008-03-06T13:17:46.433-08:00Island of Enchantment"Welcome to the Island of Enchantment," the pilot said over the speakers when the plane landed in San Juan and people applauded. By the time we left the airport it was past midnight. We rented a car to drive across the Island to my hometown. My brother drove while N stared into the darkness to catch whatever glimpse she could get of the city but with a pitch black sky the only visibility was that of the eternal constructions and the crazy drivers on the road. The main highway ends in Arecibo. From there we exited to road #2, which is the old road that travels around the Island. <br /><br />As we neared Guajataca I explained to N we would soon come upon my favorite view of the Island, a place where the ocean suddenly meets wind and land. I feared it might be too dark to see anything but as we rounded the downhill curve a full moon shone directly on the spot, drawing a carpet of light on the water, outlining the mountain, exposing the tunnel and flashing the waves which constantly broke over the sand and formed thick white surf. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb335e8214b1000000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />"Pirate country," I said while N held her breath. "Oy," was her only expression, followed by "it's beautiful." We also had a glimpse of the face of the <em>Taino </em>Indian carved on the mountain rock. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb335ee0dca0f00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />We didn't take pictures that night but we returned later that week to take pictures of the view during the day.<br /> <br />We arrived at my parent's house within forty more minutes. My parents woke up to receive us. The house looked beautiful with new painting and new chairs on the terrace (my brother's old basketball court). <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df28b3127cceb3d36e399df300000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />Inside, the living room looked a bit crowded with the gigantic Christmas tree. My mother can never buy anything small. It has become a joke with us, like the time she bought the refrigerator which didn't fit into the space in the kitchen. "Didn't they have a bigger one at the store?" I asked. "It looked small in the showroom," has become her usual answer. She served us food immediately. Pasteles made with green bananas-our first taste of Christmas food, and fresh bread from the local <em>panadería</em>.<br /> <br />I stayed in my old bedroom with the collection of dolls my mother won't get rid of. N stayed in my brother's old room, while my brother took the studio downstairs, his bachelor pad after he graduated from college and before he bought his house. The bedrooms in my parent's house have A/C but we slept with the windows open since the cool tropical winter air is the best air conditioner in the world. I fell asleep to the sound of the coqui and woke up to the sound of birds chirping the next morning. N asked me about both sounds and I explained the coqui is a little frog which only sings in Puerto Rico and the birds are my mother's pets-cockatiels, love birds and parakeets-which she keeps in the backyard. <br /> <br />First things first. I went to visit my grandmother before running off to tour the Island. I introduced N to my grandparents and the other five or six family members who walked in and out of the house as if it was a secret passageway into their own homes. I told my youngest uncle we wanted to visit the <em>Labadie Castle</em>, an old plantation house where a famous Puerto Rican writer (Enrique Laguerre) wrote his masterpiece <em>La Llamarada </em>(I haven't read the book, but I read the first few pages. His style and choice of words make his writing very poetic… I wish I could write like that). My uncle immediately took his cell phone out and called Townhall to find out if the place was open. I invited him to come along and he jumped into the car without thinking about it twice. We had a nice tour of the place. I've loved the plantation house since I was a child. Back then it was abandoned but in the last few years the major has reconstructed the gardens and some areas of the house. It looks amazing. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33f56a18a6500000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />A tour guide showed us the house, which is not that big, but it's full of history. Sugar cane, coffee, rice and tobacco were produced there. Slavery was abolished after the Civil War but most of the workers remained working in the plantation. Fear of hurricanes made the owners reconstruct the house into a cement structure, which initially had been a bigger and more beautiful wooden structure. <br /> <br />N told me she liked seeing waves splashing against mountains of rocks in the ocean. I knew the perfect spot- Playa Jobos <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33f4d14ca4500000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />(where later that week my brother decided to play a little joke on his gf). <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb335ff0c0bae00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />We stopped to eat fish kabobs at one of my favorite run down places at the beach and then we went to see the condos for sale in that area. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb335e8eccaed00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />They are expensive but not out-of-reach expensive yet, as most beach properties are and I hope to invest in the near future.<br /><br />On the second day we traveled to Camuy via Lares. We first did a quick stop in Lares to try the famous ice creams, which include flavors such as rice with beans and garlic. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33ef83f2bd000000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />My favorite is corn ice cream topped with cinnamon. Mmm... <br /><br />The Camuy Caverns turned out more amazing than I anticipated. I remember having seen the Camuy Cave when I was about 8-years-old, but the caverns were discovered later. They are bigger and more impressive. You don't realize you are up on a mountain until a troley takes you all the way down to the entrance of the cave on a winding road that looked like a rollercoaster. Thank God the troley didn't go fast, because as slow as it went, I still held on to my seat. <br /><img style="width: 263px; height: 403px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33ef6762b9e00000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />They took us deep into the forest, until the sky could barely be seen among the tall leafy trees. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33fa55b4b4e00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />The first glimpse of the cavern was a wide entrance covered with stalagmites and stalactites. <br /><img style="width: 263px; height: 403px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33e7acbaa5500000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />Enough light entered the cave at the beggining of the tour, but as we kept walking into the cave it became darker and darker, until we came upon another oppening on the roof of the cave. The view was spectacular. It was the kind of view often portrayed on tourism magazines. <br /><img style="width: 263px; height: 403px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33e3b7fea5900000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />My pictures don't make it justice. You have to be there to see it.<br /> <br />The next day we headed to Ponce, one of the largest towns. Ponce has my second favorite view of the Island. Driving down the West coast toward the South you suddenly come up with the beach to your right. The turquoise blue water is so close to the road you can basically jump from the car into the water. The beach is more serene on this side of the Island because it belongs to the Caribbean Sea instead of the Atlantic Ocean found in the North. We stopped to eat at Pito's Seafood Restaurant, which overlooks the sea. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33898986bde00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />We had mofongo (mashed fried plantains) filled with seafood in tomato sauce, piña colada and sorullitos <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb338a1062bc400000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br />before heading to the downtown area. Among some of the interests are the first fire department <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb338bf78aa8500000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br />the museum of art and the Serralles Castle,<br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33d2ded0b2400000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />a major sugar cane plantation house which belongs to the prominent Serralles family. The Serralles industry produces Don Q rum and one of the members of the family married an ex-governor of the Island. <br />At the museum of art the most famous piece is Flaming June, which portrays a woman wearing a bright but translucent orange gown.<br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33d5c254b4c00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />It was painted by a French artist and acquired by the ex-governor and founder of the museum, Luis A. Ferré. Still my favorite paining is The Court of King Alexis because of its impressive size and the story it tells. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33d45848a4900000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br /> <br />I was exhausted the next day and decided to show my friend around my hometown. Not much to see at all, but we walked to the plaza,<br /><img style="width: 263px; height: 403px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33eb8692ba600000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />visited the church, and the Mundillo museum, the handcrafted lace for which the town of Moca is known. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33ea263aa9100000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /> <br />That night my mother and I stayed up until 3am preparing dishes for Christmas Eve dinner. We grounded fresh coconut to get coconut milk and make sweet rice, coconut flan (my invented recipe) and coquito. N got a taste of coquito right after touring the Labadie Castle, when my uncle offered his homemade coquito. She loved it. What she didn't know was that the thick sweet taste hides the flavor of ron caña, the infamous bootlegged rum which I can smell and recognize a mile away (Pirate rum, I like to call it and by the way, it's also illegal). When Abuela saw her drinking coquito she opened her eyes in surprise and asked me if it had been "baptized" with rum. At that moment N giggled and I didn't have to answer the question. <br /> <br />Christmas Eve at Abuela's house went as usual: Amazing! I love to have the family in one place, clos together, happy. We celebrated with plenty of food, rum and music. Most members of my family, myself included, can't carry a tune. That didn't stop us from brining out the maracas and güiro (this year we went all out and also used pleneras as well as pots and pans)<br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb335a7ab8a1500000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />and sang the few songs we know at the top of our voices. Actually, in November there had been a death in my family and Abuela was still in mourning, that's why we kept is simple and didn't invite parrandas. <em>Las parrandas de los enmascarados</em> commemorate the masacre of the Innocents, after the birth of Jesus. Caravans of men dressed in colorful costums travel from house to house within the town singing and dancing. My uncle (this one told N he had "un buen canto" which can translate to either "a good voice" or "a good <em>piece</em>")and one of my cousins form part of one of those caravans by the name of "La Selecta". My cousin M, whom I call Muñeca (doll), sings with the caravan as well. Women, though, are not allowed to dress in costume. <br /><img style="width: 263px; height: 403px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb3368b486b0400000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><br />On Christmas day we woke up early to roast the pig. <br /><img style="width: 263px; height: 403px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33f27a64bf200000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />N freaked out a little when she entered Abuela's kitchen and saw the corpse, but she quickly recovered and began taking pictures. <br /><img src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb335c6c3cad500000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />To my surprise, neither N nor K were picky with the pig and ate a good portion (I think it grosses me out a lot more than it did them).<br /><br />We went swiming to Crashboat beach. The beaches in Puerto Rico are warmer during winter than California beaches during summer. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33688c8aa2d00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />It felt awsome. I took my dog to the beach for the first time. She barked at the waves for a while after one broke hard against her but I took her deeper into calmer water and she learned to swim immediately. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df28b3127cceb3d36e179ddd00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />She loved it and complained when I took her out of the water. She also learned to dry herself by rolling around in the sand. <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df28b3127cceb3d36f0fdd5d00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><br />On Sunday night after mass we went to Espinal to eat seafood <em>empanadillas</em> and octopus salad <br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33ff974ca7f00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />afterwards my brother got an allergic reaction to the fresh seafood. It's the second time something like this happens to him. The first time we were returning from Culebras when he complained about back pains. I gave him an Advil, forgetting about his allergy to aspirin-related products. We were in a boat in the middle of the ocean when his face swelled up like Will Smith's in the movie "Hitch". It seemed we got tired of silly sibling fights and decided to try to kill each other. Luckily in addition to Advil I always carry Benadril. <br /><br />We went to <em>Las Ruinas </em>(The Ruins)<br /><img style="width: 263px; height: 403px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb3351ef04bba00000025100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />a nice spot in Aguadilla to take pictures, before heading out to <em>La Palguera </em>and the Fluorescent Bay. For the water to fluoresce you must go on a dark night with no moon. Unfortunately there was moon on the only night we had available to go and the images were not as impressive. Still, we enjoyed the boat ride over the dark water and we were able to see the water fluorsce a little when swimmers jumped out of the boat into the water. K was reluctant to touch the water at first, but when she saw the water shinning over her hand, she dipped it into the water and waived it like a puppy learnign to swim.<br /><br />After that we spent a couple of days in the city. Walking the brick-covered streets of the Old San Juan is like stepping into another era. The Spanish Colonial houses, the intensity of the ocean waves breaking against the sand, the castles and forts, the green gardens. The new and the old mingled together. Words can not describe it. "Beautiful, beautiful," N and K kept saying. They would turn their heads and repeat "beautiful" as we walked. Maybe pictures will describe it better:<br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb3353f0b8af900000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb3353de48a1700000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb3354a2a4b4a00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb335454b0bb400000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb3355a444b2c00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb3355cf4caaf00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33557020bf400000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br />Ooh! He's got some powerful balls!!!<br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb33547360bc800000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df28b3127cceb3dfc1a7dda100000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img> <br />I love this picture. I took it a few years ago and since then I've used it in presentations and articles. I have a large copy in my office at work. Oh, yes, and another one on my Blog!<br /><br />That night, as tired as we were, we went clubbing to the Hotel San Juan and Casino in Isla Verde. I chose to go there because that hotel brings back great memores of when I lived in San Juan right after graduating college and I used to go to the hotel to enjoy the night life with some of my best friends. One of them, actually, the surgeon, got married at the hotel gardens.<br />I didn't take pictures of the hotel but I found some cute ones:<br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df28b3127cceb3dfd9545c6e00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df28b3127cceb3dfd987dd8d00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df28b3127cceb3dfde6b1cca00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br /><br />N left us the next day to go back to Arizona (of all places!). We went home.<br /><br />Home. <br /><br />I was exhausted and sneezed all the way back. Is it weird to sneeze when I'm tired?? I wanted to go to sleep for at least two days, but as I changed into my comfy pj's my cousin A called to invite me to Cousin's Kareoke Night at her house. Sleeping could wait.<br /><img style="width: 403px; height: 263px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8df26b3127cceb335ad008abb00000026100AbNmzdk1cNmLg"></img><br />I got there early and helped set up. The cousins were anxious to meet K. We had kept her touring around for too long. When she walked into the house with my brother, F raised her hand "Me first," she said and introduced herself (F is the one with the wild fushia-red hair and the matching personality). <br /><br />K doesn't speak much Spanish. I think we managed to get about five Spanish words out of her during the entire trip. But she sang "Photograph" by Nickelback with the cousins. I think she scored high points with the family just for that. F didn't say anything mean about her and F's opinion is often heard, very loudly, so I'm sure K's in.<br /><br />I more or less slept through New Year's. Only got out of Abuelo's sofa to collect my midnight kisses. And soon after (too soon) it was time to go back home. To Albuquerque, home.<br /><br />I often wonder what I'm doing far from my country and everything and everyone I love. It's the eternal irony of having my life in one place but my heart in another. Don't get me wrong, I love Albuquerque... but...<br /><br />Ahhh...<br /><br />My New Year's resolotion is to find a permanent job that will allow me to go Home more often. Home.<br /><br />On a good note... I moved from the Island of Enchantment to the Land of Enchantment!<br /><br />Love you all from here to there,<br /><br />LCelestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-35379705224393166172007-09-05T13:35:00.001-07:002008-10-29T09:08:35.994-07:00Quick Fix<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTS2g1KpWKW6WMszFx9EUGcdVvds29XZ0Dt6hfxf_rtApwzgrWevINvUrXBvPGSRNZCN6Hk_xALnQksv4ZS7cbcJSXgdm1woAt_4lHsOSeysG9jtWC8Vi2OngWRjdkHNol2ft0oiWfxw/s1600-h/LA+2007+(2).JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTS2g1KpWKW6WMszFx9EUGcdVvds29XZ0Dt6hfxf_rtApwzgrWevINvUrXBvPGSRNZCN6Hk_xALnQksv4ZS7cbcJSXgdm1woAt_4lHsOSeysG9jtWC8Vi2OngWRjdkHNol2ft0oiWfxw/s200/LA+2007+(2).JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106837831004191506" /></a><br />Two weeks ago my boss told me to take a vacation. Well, he did not say it like that. He sent me an email saying he didn't want to pressure me into taking a vacation but it was very very very important that I took one, or his project would run out of budget.<br />How then did I end up in the middle of the desert, lying on a highway road underneath a car?<br />Let me back up.<br />I love my work. There's nothing stressful about my job… except when my experiments don't work, when I have to write a research article but only manage to stare at the blank page for hours and that stupid twitch on my eye-the same one I had while writing my dissertation, and I freak out because by next summer I must find another job and sell the house and the real estate market only keeps on going down, and oh, I hate moving…! <br />Other than that I have no reason to stress. I was saving my vacation time for an elusive trip to Europe, but after my boss sent that email I basically had no choice. I first considered going ahead and taking that trip to Europe. A quick search on www.travel.yahoo.com assured me <em>my </em>budget would not allow it, so I opted for something better: I emailed IntASU (for reference, please look at the picture at the bottom of this page).<br />Within minutes I had two invitations. One was from N who assured me I could stay with her in Phoenix and the other one from E who invited me over to L.A. with lots of exclamation points, since she recently moved there and was feeling lonely. Other IntASU members, who now live in CA, replied saying they would join us in L.A. Others would drive from Phoenix for a total of 11 people. I was very excited about this and immediately took their offer.<br />N told me she had another friend staying with her from Chicago. Her name is B, and we would share the cost of the trip. The plan was simple: I would fly to Phoenix (Southwest $49 each way), stay with N, then we would rent a car and drive to L.A. <br />Yet, things have a way of not working out exactly the way you plan. We were driving on I-10 from Phoenix to CA and talking about going from zero income to being successful career women, and happy we had rented a hybrid, when we heard a noise. We turned the radio down and there it was again. It sounded as if something got caught under the car and was being dragged. <br />I was volunteered to go out into the 112 degree climate to take a look because I was the only engineer in the group (bioengineer, to be exact). I was expecting to see a poor little squirrel or what remained of one, caught in the wheel, but instead I noticed the noise came from a panel beneath the car which covered the engine. The panel had fallen off on one side and was scraping the road. I went half-way under the car and since the panel was made of plastic and somewhat flexible I was able to tug it back where it belonged and we went on our way. No, it wouldn't take an engineer to figure it out but my friends were happy I fixed the problem and we drove on singing and laughing until ten minutes later we heard the noise again. A gas station was not too far ahead and we stopped there. This time I stayed in the car calling the rental company while N and B went looking for a mechanic or at least someone with minor knowledge of auto parts but they came back saying the only attendants were teenage girls and handed me a roll of duct tape.<br />B was wearing a white mini skirt, so N and I got under the car and taped the hell out of that plastic panel. The rental company would not meet us out in the middle of the desert because the car was still drivable and said we had to drive to LAX to exchange it. <br />By the next gas station the tape had fallen off and the panel barely resembled one. I was running out of ideas but I had to pee really bad so I went to the <em>Ladies </em>and when I went back out B had fixed the problem with her cute miniskirt. A guy was now under the car tying the panel with a rope. This more imaginative fix allowed us to drive the car to LAX without any more trouble.<br /><br />We negotiated and got the cost of gasoline waved. At the end because they didn't have any hybrids available and we had to go back to the airport the next day in order to get a hybrid to drive back to Phoenix and meanwhile drive around L.A. in a PT Cruiser, we also got the cost down to about a third of what we expected to pay. Good thing to have an accountant and a marketing executive in the trip as well!<br />The trips to the airport cut down our vacation time, still we were able to enjoy excellent Asian restaurants, watch the sunset at the beach, walking over the surf with the waves splashing against my legs... oh, I miss living near the ocean... and spend some quality time with IntASU. <br /><br />Seeing IntASU members was like visiting an ex-boyfriend with whom you still share a good relationship. It brings back memories of times past. It makes you laugh until your stomach hurts... The dinners, the happy hours, the tripos, the campingos, the joking around in bed... and the dancing...<br /><br />We went to a Salsa club in Colorado Avenue. A is still my favorite merengue dancer, even if E has full rights now (they are now married). My time with IntASU was awesome, but too short. I miss them dearly. The good thing is, no matter where I vacation in the world, I can meet up with a few of them. I know I will eventually take that trip to Europe and see IntASU members who now live there (the Spanish Mafia, the Italian Mafia, the Germans and some of the Frenchies as well). Hopefully some of them will also come visit me in Albuquerque soon (some already have), since one of the reasons I wanted a house was to have enough room for them.<br />Shopping at the Cabazon Outlet Mall was also great and too short. One thing became very evident, though: unless I lose the 20 extra pounds I have allowed myself to gain in Albuquerque, I will not be able to fit into Bebe shirts or Guess jeans!<br />While in Phoenix my friends took me to Salty Señoritas to enjoy my favorite drink and celebrate my birthday for the second week in a row. It's incredible to realize I'm into my thirties but it's even more incredible to look back and be able to say "I did all that?!" with a big grin on my face.<br />Coming home was also nice. The desert heat in Albuquerque goes all the way up to the 90's... haha...! My house looks beautiful even with all the junk my dog KY keeps on destroying and scattering over the floors. I go back to work tomorrow and although work is work, this trip reminded me there's nothing else I'd rather do. Hopefully I'll be able to take vacations more often because they are what makes work truly worthwhile (vacations AND friends!). <br />Oh, and the twitch in my eye is completely gone.<br /><br />Love you all from here to there,<br /><br />LCelestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-23830415376558585902007-08-11T22:27:00.000-07:002008-01-25T12:03:21.276-08:00ELEGIA PARA TI Y PARA MI - Jose Angel Buesa<em>mi poema favorito</em> (translation below)<br /><br />Yo seguiré soñando mientras pasa la vida, y tú te irás borrando lentamente en mi sueño.<br />Un año y otro año caerán como hojas secas de las ramas del árbol milenario del tiempo,<br />y tu sonrisa, llena de claridad de aurora, se alejará en la sombra creciente del recuerdo.<br />Yo seguiré soñando mientras pasa la vida, y quizás, poco a poco, dejaré de hacer versos,<br />bajo el vulgar agobio de la rutina diaria, de las desilusiones y los aburrimientos.<br />Tú, que nunca soñaste mas que cosas posibles, dejarás, poco a poco, de mirarte al espejo.<br /><br />Acaso nos veremos un día, casualmente, al cruzar una calle, y nos saludaremos.<br />Yo pensaré quizás: "Qué linda es todavía." Tú quizás pensarás: "Se está poniendo viejo"<br />Tú irás sola, o con otro. Yo iré solo o con otra, o tú irás con un hijo que debiera ser nuestro.<br /><br />Y seguirá muriendo la vida, año tras año, igual que un río oscuro que corre hacia el silencio.<br />Un amigo, algún día, me dirá que te ha visto, o una canción de entonces me traerá tu recuerdo.<br />Y en esas noches tristes de quietud y de estrellas, pensaré en ti un instante, pero cada vez menos....<br /><br />Y pasará la vida. Yo seguiré soñando; pero ya no habrá un nombre de mujer en mi sueño.<br />Yo ya te habré olvidado definitivamentey sobre mis rodillas retozarán mis nietos.<br />(Y quizás, para entonces, al cruzar una calle, nos vimos frente a frente, ya sin reconocernos.)<br /><br />Y una tarde de sol me cubrirán de tierra, las manos para siempre cruzadas sobre el pecho.<br />Tú, con los ojos tristes y los cabellos blancos, te pasarás las horas bostezando y tejiendo.<br />Y cada primavera renacerán las rosa, aunque ya tú estés vieja, y aunque yo me haya muerto.<br /><br />* * *<br /><em>my favorite poem</em><br /><br />I will go on dreaming as life goes by and you will start fading slowly from my dream<br />A year and another will fall like dry leafs from the millenary tree of time<br />And your smile, full of the light of dawn, will vanish in the growing shadow of memory<br />I will go on dreaming as life goes by and perhaps slowly I will stop writing verses<br />Under the vulgar tiredness of daily routine, under disillusions and boredom<br />You, who never dreamed but possible dreams, will slowly stop looking at your reflection in the mirror<br /><br />Peraphs, we will casually meet one day when crossing a street and we will great each other<br />I might think "How pretty she is still," you might think, "He's getting old."<br />You will be alone, or with another; I will be alone, or with another<br />or you'll be with a child that should have been ours<br /><br />And life will continue dying, year after year, like a dark river that runs toward silence.<br />A friend one day will tell me he has seen you, or a song from back then will bring back your memory.<br />And during those sad nights of stillness and stars I will think of you briefly, but every time less…<br />And life will go on; I will keep on dreaming but there will no longer be a woman's name in my dream.<br />I will have forgotten you definitively and over my knees my grandchildren will rest.<br />(And perhaps by then when crossing a street we come face to face without recognition)<br /><br />And on a sunny day they will cover me with soil, my hands forever crossed over my chest.<br />You, with your sad eyes and your white hair will spend the hours knitting and yawning.<br />And every Spring roses will be reborn, even if you are old and even if I am dead.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-53380738015467713362007-08-11T22:23:00.000-07:002007-08-12T11:37:43.003-07:00Panorama de Cerca (Poema)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97GZi-_sJmd3u1WeT8lJmPiHWMwVbirkHvzwfUg5QWo1jkgJcaELT_5bO-SgbtdewAd9FRGUPeuifMWFwqENpkzJoCvTI5kIUuF4SEsQxlYZdPM9mdu5XfhT4G3A-GhHKqWFDZlx9uoY/s1600-h/Las+Ruinas+(62).JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97GZi-_sJmd3u1WeT8lJmPiHWMwVbirkHvzwfUg5QWo1jkgJcaELT_5bO-SgbtdewAd9FRGUPeuifMWFwqENpkzJoCvTI5kIUuF4SEsQxlYZdPM9mdu5XfhT4G3A-GhHKqWFDZlx9uoY/s200/Las+Ruinas+(62).JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097885026227306674" /></a><br />Tu siempre serás el contraste entre un lindo recuerdo y una amarga agonía.<br />Eras el amigo preferido, eras el enemigo cruel, y el que pudo ser algo más…<br />pero nunca lo fue.<br /><br />Hay personas que siempre conservan en sus mentes el recuerdo<br />de un amor de escuela a quien como a un panorama<br />se admira de lejos, pero nunca se le acercan,<br />por miedo a que pierda la perfección que le da la lejanía.<br /><br />Nosotros fuimos eso y un poquito más.<br />Nosotros nos retamos y nos atrevimos<br />a cruzara la barrera entre lo que se admira de lejos<br />y lo que se tiene de cerca.<br /><br />Empezó porque te reté a que te atrevieras<br />a hacer lo que siempre insinuabas.<br />Luego cambiaste la baraja, y pusiste el reto en mí.<br />Siempre conté con tu amistad, y tú con la mía,<br />para pequeños detalles o para grandes consuelos.<br />Eras celoso conmigo, y yo siempre lo fui contigo.<br />Peleábamos día y noche para no aburrirnos nunca.<br />Y hasta la playa fue testigo de una simple travesura.<br /><br />Nunca admitimos a nadie que sus sospechas eran ciertas.<br />Así era más interesante, era el panorama de cerca.<br /><br />¿Que fue entonces lo que salió mal?<br />¿Fue orgullo o fue cobardía lo que nos mantuvo aparte,<br />aún cuando hubiéramos preferido seguir juntos?<br />¿O fue acaso que el destino eligió por nosotros, como a veces pasa?<br /><br />Tal vez los dos siempre supimos que lo nuestro nunca habría de ser.<br />Nosotros fuimos simplemente eso, el típico amor de panorama.<br />Solo que nos atrevimos a intentar<br />lo que siempre supimos que nunca íbamos a tener.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-19167850632756495632007-08-11T22:13:00.001-07:002007-08-16T13:01:06.076-07:00Portico (Essay- using the senses)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBM5fSqNxdFhUzMkj5Wnpyo09woMtiXTMPgpt1fNjnCIjefNtoHb2oN-9I0fSrZd6PBRQugOZDNae-xjCDvcdlDh859_eEzxosmbIehtVSYpUxXwo83bBraa7YlwOtMt1X5Psa4D0qBoQ/s1600-h/Portico+UPRM.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBM5fSqNxdFhUzMkj5Wnpyo09woMtiXTMPgpt1fNjnCIjefNtoHb2oN-9I0fSrZd6PBRQugOZDNae-xjCDvcdlDh859_eEzxosmbIehtVSYpUxXwo83bBraa7YlwOtMt1X5Psa4D0qBoQ/s320/Portico+UPRM.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097879644633284642" /></a><br />Finally, my last year of College! This year the new student ID's are made of thermo plastic PVC with the picture printed on them. Mine is laminated and torn down the center, with my picture fading. When I show my ID younger students laugh, and most of them are younger at this point. Not many survive an intensive 5-year program in engineering at the "Harvard of the Caribbean". If I stay one more year I will inevitably become what here is refered to as a <em>dinosaur</em>.<br />I find myself in the middle of a class, sitting under the <em>Portico</em>, the concrete doorway which serves as the symbol of my university, and thinking very soon I’ll be coming back for the class picture. I wonder if the picture will show everything I’m seeing right now. I wonder if it will bring back the memories I want to remember.<br />It’s close to one o’clock in the afternoon. The assignment for this Advanced Composition class is to use our senses to describe the scenery and write a descriptive essay. The professor-a young, good looking gringo surfer with a PhD in English-tells us to begin with sight.<br />I look up and see the sky as an infinite light-blue color, already filling with dark clouds and the promise of rain for mid-afternoon. Green is the most predominant color. It makes the short-cut grass look like a golf field, and gives the stereotypical-tropical-island look to the million palm trees surrounding us.<br />Students walk by on their way to class. Most of them by themselves, some in groups of two or three. The guys wear their mandatory uniform: T-shirt, baggy jeans and Reef sandals. The girl’s outfits vary more, except for the short spaghetti-strap tops which expose two or three inches of skin at the waist. The clothes are of bright colors which don’t always match. Some girls wear long hippie skirts, some jeans or shorts, some summer dresses. Most wear flip-flops or metal colored sandals, fewer wear tennis shoes. <br />It is surprisingly quiet for this time of day on campus. The only noise is the far away sound of a construction machine working on a road that will never be finished.<br />The students around me complain about the heat. The sun is bright and hot at this hour. It burns the skin and gives it an itchy feeling. A soft breeze can be felt from time to time, but it isn’t enough to take away the awful sticky feeling of heat and humidity.<br />I can not help notice the language the students use when complaining. It’s funny how we can begin a sentence in Spanish, end it in English, and still understand each other. The accent each one uses is as different as the person using it: the <em>campesino</em>, the Newyorikan, the effeminate.<br />We begin to get desperate for more sounds when the bells suddenly begin their usual <em>Alleluia</em> and <em>Alma Mater</em>. I wonder if everyone is singing in their minds the popular version of the song, like I am.<br /><em>Alma Mater Colegial. Epopeya del saber donde se aprende a beber…</em><br />The professor tells us to describe the smell.<br />“The brewery,” one of the students says.<br />I’m so used to the smell from the brewery I didn’t notice it. I don’t think this particular smell will remind me of my college days in the future. Whenever I feel the thick warm smell of beer coming from the brewery, it still reminds me of boiling <em>panas</em> in Abuela's kitchen. Maybe that's their secret ingredient!<br />One smell which will definitely remind me of college is the smell of tuna fish from the nearby <em>Star Fish atunera</em>. In my dorm (or Lady's hostel) we blame the sharp stinky odor on whomever hasn't showered yet.<br />We finish taking notes. It’s time to go on with the rest of my classes. Soon it will be time to go on with the rest of my life, leaving behind the great five years I’ve spent here. I wonder how it will be if I come back one day. Maybe if the class picture doesn’t describe everything I want to remember, at least this essay will.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-44530731104749006912007-08-11T22:01:00.001-07:002007-08-12T11:24:55.103-07:00Mara (Portrait Story)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-bjECqDJu2VyUPGhc3QfXwxOKSlhmfwAlEAmQrew5Zn9gKKTq8UvQWGh7wYTiUgw7iHaDDch_EN7ePynzxorHn_cFJm8HFOC2J78dAn59d7-EuDlJAMCeZv1rbyKxxU7YS8SV9hv78s/s1600-h/My+Girl+Poster.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-bjECqDJu2VyUPGhc3QfXwxOKSlhmfwAlEAmQrew5Zn9gKKTq8UvQWGh7wYTiUgw7iHaDDch_EN7ePynzxorHn_cFJm8HFOC2J78dAn59d7-EuDlJAMCeZv1rbyKxxU7YS8SV9hv78s/s200/My+Girl+Poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097881740577325154" /></a><br />She walks among the dead. They don’t scare her, she takes them for granted. She’s been surrounded by dead people since the day she was born. She is still very young, not twenty yet. Her petite figure and her blond-curly hair are in contrast to her somewhat hyperactive personality. She is not aware of how unusual and interesting her life seems to those who were not raised in the same environment she was raised in. What is even more surprising about her is the ability and confidence with which she handles both life and death.<br /> Amararis González, better known as Mara, works in a funeral parlor. She reminds me of Vada, the girl from the movie My Girl. Vada’s family owned a funeral parlor. She was raised and lived in it, but she was scared of the dead people who were brought into her home. The most tragic episode in the movie is when Vada’s best friend dies and the service takes place in Vada’s own home. Mara was also raised in a funeral parlor. She loves it to such extent that she’d rather be working there than staying on Campus with her friends. Although the family has their home at another part of town, they spend most of their time at the funerary. <br />“We even eat and do laundry here, in the apartment we have upstairs,” Mara says. <br />Mara’s family has owned the funeral parlor for the last twenty five years. Moca Memorial is the most prominent funeral parlor in the town of Moca. The owners, Mara’s parents, have made it a way of life for the whole family. Everyone shares the work and the responsibility. Even Mara’s six-year-old nephew helps by answering the phone. “Good morning, Moca Memorial.”<br /> The two-story building is located on a hill. It has a big sign in black letters, which reads Moca Memorial, and a cross at each end of the sign. The concrete structure has a modern architectural style. The exterior is painted in light pastel colors. It is a rather nice looking building, and doesn’t look much like a funeral parlor from outside. Every time there is a wake it is very common to see people all the way up the hill, and standing on the stairs that lead to the building. Usually, the people talking outside seem to be sharing pleasant conversations, like old friends who have not seen each other in years and suddenly meet inside a shopping mall. <br /> From inside the view is different. A warm feeling is felt walking into the lobby. A peculiar smell can also be felt. Not everybody seems sensitive to this smell, and imagination probably enhances it. It is the smell of different perfumes mingled with the far away aromas of hot cocoa and coffee, flowers and chemicals used for conserving the corpse such as formaldehyde. The parlor consists of a wide lobby, a small pantry, a flower shop, an office, and three chapels. The lighted and cheerful lobby contrasts with the dark chapels filled with sorrow, sobs and tears.<br /> Mara is frequently seen inside the office, doing the paper work, or bringing flower arrangements to the chapels. She talks to the people and helps to organize lines so everybody gets an equal chance to pay their respects to their loved ones. <br />“The most difficult part of the job is not dealing with the corpses, they are already dead and won’t question you. The hard work is dealing with the family and friends who come here ordering things to be done their way. Every one of them has a different view of how things should be done, and they frequently fight. The most common fights are over money. At one time it was the ex-wife and the lover of the deceased who argued about who had the right to decide over the funeral. It is a lot easier to deal with the corpses. The only bad habit they have is burping when they still have gases inside them. When that happens, the only thing we can do is laugh, because after all, it is a bit funny.”<br /> Mara works as a receptionist at the parlor. She has had that job since she was twelve. She loves her job, mostly because it gives her the chance to work with people. She is a very active person, and has to be working on something all the time. “The only disadvantage is that it is a 24-hour-a-day job. If a person comes in the middle of the night, you have to get up and help him. You can’t just tell him to come back in the morning. Sometimes my friends come to invite me to the beach, but I can’t leave whatever I’m doing to go with them. The responsibility is too much; I can’t leave it all to my parents.” Sometimes her friends are scared to visit her at the funerary. Unlike Vada, she takes her job very seriously, and doesn’t try to frighten people with scary stories about the dead. <br /> Mara is a regular student at the University of Puerto Rico at Arecibo. She doesn’t like to stay in Campus during the week. She’d rather go back to the funerary to work. She’d like to continue working in the funeral business once she finishes her studies, or even take over the family business. She loves the business, and nothing about it scares her or gives her the creeps. It has been part of her life since the day she was born. She says that it is common to see a crib in the parlor and toys scattered all over the floor, because there’s always a baby in the family being raised in the same atmosphere she was raised in. Death has never been a taboo in her family. She was taught, at an early age, death is part of life. “It is something that sooner or later happens to everybody. Some people think that we feel happy when people die, because that's how we make money, but it’s not like that. Death is inevitable. It brings unhappiness, and it makes us sad, but it all goes away.”<br /> When Mara was ten, her Grandmother died, and the service took place at her family’s funerary. Her Grandmother’s service was grand. Her father bought an elaborate casket for her. Mara explained about a tradition in the Funeral Business.<br />“When a member of the family in the funeral business dies, every funerary in Puerto Rico sends a carriage filled with flowers to follow the procession.” Mara remembers her grandmother’s funeral from a child’s point of view. “I remember that my cousin paid me a dollar so I would stop talking and keep quiet.” She remembers her aunts crying and how hard it was for her father to try to stay calm. She cried too, but like children often do, she overcame it soon.<br /> Only one death caused her sleepless nights. “Do you remember the accident where the girl from Ponce died?” <br />That had been a terrible accident, less than two years before. A student from el Colegio went to Moca to visit her boyfriend. On her way back, a truck driver did not stop at a red light and impacted the girl's car. She died instantly. <br />“Our funerary is the only one in the area with the permission to pick up corpses. I was the one to receive the call, so I rushed there with my brother. It was terrible. I remember the girl, still in the car, with her green eyes open, looking at me. She was beautiful, even with blood all over her. I could not forget the look in her eyes. When we took her away from the car I realized her leg was missing, and we found it in the backside of the car. The memory kept me awake at nights. I couldn’t get over it.” <br />Even with all the experience she has, she says that she is not ready to face the death of someone close to her. “The other night I dreamed that my boyfriend died. It was horrible. I couldn’t stop crying. Nothing could prepare me to deal with something like that.”<br /> Mara loved the movie My Girl. “I did not realize until now how similar my life is to the character of Vada. It is a very realistic movie, except the girl should have seen death as natural, and not being scared of it. She was old enough to understand death, because at her age, I was. It is very traumatic to face the death of someone we love, but life goes on, and we have to get over it.”Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-18543509239199732662007-08-03T19:44:00.001-07:002007-08-10T20:09:14.969-07:00Dreaded Words (Short Story-in progress)Nandi knew eventually he had to get married. It wasn’t that he was opposed to the idea… it was more that he preferred to delay the decision as much as possible. He always had the perfect excuse for his parents. "But I'm going to school in a country far away from India. I have no money, and any girl I marry will require some level of stability, which I completely lack.”<br />But the day finally came when his father pronounced the dreadful words, “You are over thirty, son. Soon no woman will want you.”<br />So he reluctantly agreed to let his parents arrange a marriage for him. His father posted the picture on the internet marriage site and wrote his biography, which he showed at work to his American colleagues.<br />“There’s no way you will find a wife with a picture like that!” said Johanna, his best friend at work, who seemed more like his worst enemy at times. Johanna always found something in him to criticize--his hair, his clothes, the way he walked, the way he smelled... but in this case she was trying to be helpful. Johanna was a professional or artistic photographer, depending on her mood. She promised to help him in his search for a wife by taking a decent picture of him. First, she had to convince him he needed a new wardrobe.<br />“What’s wrong with what I wear?” he kept asking.<br />To which an exasperated Johanna finally replied, “Where should I begin?" She looked at him from head to toe. "Hawaiian shirts and Bermudas were the look of the 80's, but in case you haven't noticed, we are in a new millennium. We have been, for the last five years. And by the way, you should do something about your hair."<br />"What you mean, girl? My hair is already too short."<br />"That it is," she replied, "but it's also too grey."<br /><br />Johanna took him to the mall that weekend and on Monday picture number one-pouty face, unevenly cut graying hair, baggy clothes and sandals, was replaced by pictures number two- trimmed dark hair, black crewneck shirt, khaki pants, black Italian shoes and a soft smile. And so the dating process began.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-57175484743796120572007-08-03T19:41:00.001-07:002008-04-11T21:56:15.146-07:00Our Lady of Sorrows (Short Story)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhdj8xxAvnONB8xWbo0WchZboPYXPBUI5puLON2SbKeXU158qnSJfpNOXQYbDfvIYZioxUJpzXt4AZoWEmFeEl0rAuKFZ0aFymi_46Fb9tH5A3SyYjV9-ocPs-iz8Q0d_BvtwDDzz3p0/s1600-h/Nely+en+PR+(206).JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhdj8xxAvnONB8xWbo0WchZboPYXPBUI5puLON2SbKeXU158qnSJfpNOXQYbDfvIYZioxUJpzXt4AZoWEmFeEl0rAuKFZ0aFymi_46Fb9tH5A3SyYjV9-ocPs-iz8Q0d_BvtwDDzz3p0/s200/Nely+en+PR+(206).JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152535797286080962" /></a><br /><br />She sat on the leather chair, alone in the dark living room, holding a pearl rosary in her hand; a glass of water untouched on the side table. Her eyes were closed as she silently said the same prayer over and over again. <br /> Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…<br />Waiting. <br />Hours passed before the front door opened and she heard steps. His steps sounded different, but she knew him. She'd guided his first steps. Now it was hopeless to even try.<br />"Where were you?" she asked, knowing the answer already. She stood and faced him, searching his eyes in the dark. He also searched and tried to focus on hers. Hers were swollen. His were wild.<br />"Where…" she tried again.<br />"I went out with friends," he answered.<br />"The same friends?" she asked, maintaining her stare to prevent him from lying.<br />"The same friends," he answered.<br />"How many times have I tried to get you away from those people? But no matter what I do, you always go back. Do you realize the heartache it gives me to see you like this?”<br />He didn’t answer.<br />“What else can I do?" She searched his face. "Tell me what to do!"<br />He looked down. "I've tried..."<br />She allowed herself to collapse on the chair; no more energy to cry. Placing her hand over her chest, she tried to ease the pain of her heart. "Where did I go wrong? If only I'd seen the early signs. If I could make you feel the way I feel, you would never try it again."<br />He went to her and leaning over the back of the chair, embraced her. "I love you the most, and I hurt you the most," he said.<br />At that moment, she recognized the scared boy. She felt the softness of his fair skin, smelled the sweetness of his baby-fine hair. She allowed her hand to reach his face, to caress his cheek. "Go to sleep," she said. "I have a doctor's appointment in the morning. After that, I'll come home to check on you."<br />He kissed her cheek and embraced her one last time. Then obediently, he went to sleep.<br /><br />In the morning she went to check on Dani before going to her appointment. He still slept. She left breakfast ready on the kitchen counter in case he woke up before she came home.<br />“Wake him up,” her husband said coming down the stairs. “Irresponsible! I work hard to provide for him, and all he does is throw his life away. What time did he get home last night?”<br />She went to tighten the knot on his tie and straighten the lapels of his jacket. “I didn’t look at the time.”<br />“You waited up for him again, didn’t you? Because I know you didn’t come back to bed until after four in the morning. He got himself into this mess, he better get himself out.”<br />“Let him sleep, Oscar. I’ll wake him up later.” <br />She knew her husband was at the end of his rope also. Rehab had been their last hope. It had been torture to watch Dani go through it, but three months out of rehab and he was back with his friends again.<br />“Do you want me to talk to him? Try to reason with him?” Oscar asked.<br />“No, you’ll just get into another fight. Let me handle it this time. There’s no reason left in him. The drugs have taken over.”<br />He placed his hands on the sides of her face and looked sadly into her eyes. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said with a sigh and kissed her. “Call me if you need anything.”<br /><br />She arrived early to her appointment; still the waiting room was already crowded with patients. The nurse greeted her and asked her to print her name and time of arrival. She wrote down the information with shaky hands. She hated doctors’ offices, even if the doctor was her friend.<br />“How’s your son?” Betsy, the nurse asked her.<br />She looked up from the paper directly into the nurse’s eyes. “Fine. He is fine,” she answered, trying to sound polite. She grabbed her purse from the nurse’s station and turned to find a chair. If someone, anyone, had given her even the smallest warning.<br />Don Emilio, the elderly school custodian whose daughter now lived in her neighborhood, rose from his chair to greet her. She had planned to grab a magazine and pretend to read until her name was called, but Don Emilio was a sweet man, so instead she sat next to him and made an effort at nice conversation. <br />When it was her turn, Dr. Martinez came out personally into the waiting area to greet her. “How have you been, Nadia?” he asked her.<br />“Hi, Junior,” she greeted him and as soon as the door to his office was closed they exchanged a warm hug.<br />He sat down behind his desk and studied her chart. He shook his head before looking up at her. “So? Are you ready?” he asked.<br />She avoided his eyes. “I don’t know.”<br />“Why? What’s the matter? Everything’s set up for the surgery.”<br />“I’m not ready to tell my family I’m having open heart surgery.”<br />“I thought you were not going to tell them.” <br />"They'll find out," she thought to herself.<br />“I have spoken to the best cardio surgeons. You need this surgery. Everything’s ready.”<br />“I know. But it might not be the right time for me to leave home.”<br />“Nadia, what’s going on? Is it Dani again?”<br />“No!” She had to look away so he would not see the tears forming in her eyes.<br />“Nadia, Dani chose his own life, you must take care of...”<br />“That’s not Dani’s life. That’s no way to live a life. What kind of mother would I be if I let him go?”<br />“Nadia..."<br />“You men! You all want to be fathers, but you wear it as a title. Dani was born from me. I feel his pain, his struggle, and it’s all so... hopeless. I can’t. I just can’t.”<br />Instead of pressing her, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. He waited a few seconds, letting her dry her tears, before speaking again. “How’s Suzanne? I heard she got a good internship and she hopes to graduate next year.”<br />She smiled and slowly was able to look at him again.<br />“You know,” he continued, “my boy had his heart set on Suzanne when they went to school together, but she never paid any attention to him.”<br />She had known about that. “Suzanne has a boyfriend now.”<br />“From out of town, I hear. Just like her mother. All the town beauties want their boyfriends to come from out of town,” he said looking intently at her with a sarcastic smile.<br />This time she laughed. She had known about that too. <br />He was right. Suzanne was too much like her. She had turned out pretty and tall, with golden skin, a delicate face and a curvy body. All the boys had their eyes on her. <br />There was a time when she had worried about Suzanne. Her daughter had started dating and she had wanted to be there for her. She took her daughter shopping and drove her to her friend’s parties, always taking advantage of their time alone to warn her about boys. It had been easy and fun to talk to her daughter.<br />Why hadn’t she done the same with Dani? Dani was a boy, and he was younger. She had thought she still had time to talk to Dani. It’d seemed she had less to worry about where he was concerned. But she had missed something. She had looked away for a second. She had blinked her eyes and before she realized, Dani was out of her reach.<br />They were her life-her children were her life and she would do anything for them. “I’ll be at the hospital next week.”<br /><br />After her doctor's appointment she came home and opened the windows and the back door to let the cool autumn air into her home. She went into the kitchen and noticed the breakfast she'd left on the counter remained intact. <br />She ran out of breath as she climbed the stairs, but she used her last bit of energy to slam open his bedroom door. "Daniel, wake up. I don't care how high you got last night. I didn't raise you to be a slob."<br />She left his room door open, and went back down to the kitchen to start the noon meal. She placed the steak in the oven and chopped onions, tomatoes and green chile for the salsa. Still, no grand appearance from her son.<br />"Daniel Oscar Hernandez! Come down here. Now!" she yelled from the base of the stairs. "If you’re going to miss classes again you better start looking for a job. Or your father is going to kick you out of this house. He warned you about it!"<br />No answer. No sounds.<br />"Dani, you're going to kill me one of these days with all this worry." She yanked off her apron and stood at the foot of the stairs looking up. She silently cursed her son for making her walk upstairs again. <br />He was still in bed, in the same position she'd left him that morning, but this time, she noticed something different. She didn't have to turn the lights on or open his windows to know there was something wrong. Fear overshadowed fatigue. "Dani, wake up." <br />She slowly walked around his bed. His right arm was outstretched. “Dani..." She removed the blanket that covered his face. His eyes were half-open, and white foam dribbled from his mouth.<br />Her screams brought the neighbors running. They found her kneeling next to her son, her arms embracing his body.<br />"Call an ambulance!" someone shouted.<br />“Call Dr. Martinez. He’s her doctor,” another voice said from the bedroom door. “I saw her in his office this morning,”<br />The noises inside the house grew louder as more people walked in and out. Some softly tried to calm her. Some forcefully tried to get her away from her son. She would only scream hysterically. <br />Dr. Martinez arrived and with obvious sadness, he pronounced Dani dead. “I knew your blood pressure was higher for a reason,” he said looking down at her. “This is going to destroy your weak heart.” <br />“He was so sweet last night. I was angry, I didn’t tell him I loved him,” she said, talking for the first time. “Oscar told me to wake him up this morning. I should’ve...” She cried and cried.<br />Dr. Martinez had pity on her and sedated her. Two neighbors carried her to her bedroom.<br />In her semi-comatose state she could still hear people's voices. <br />“The boy died from a drug overdose,” a woman said far away.<br />“My daughter says Dani had been using drugs since he was thirteen.”<br />“That boy is burning in hell. No way he could’ve repented before dying.”<br />My Dani in hell? How could this happen? <br /><br />Her life had been perfect. The perfect home, the perfect husband, and for a long time, the perfect children. Dani had always grabbed his sister's hand when crossing a street, he looked up to her, but a few years later they seemed to be going through a phase. <br />She should’ve paid closer attention to the changes. Dani’s grades had dropped, but he hadn't suddenly become a monster. He had always remained her sweet boy, her baby. <br />“They’re teenagers,” Oscar would say, dismissing the subject.<br />It surprised her one day, when she came home and found her children fighting. As she walked upstairs, she heard Suzanne accuse Dani of cutting classes and hanging out with the wrong crowd. When she opened the door to Dani’s room, Suzanne paled and hid a plastic bag behind her back.<br />“What’s going on?” she asked.<br />Dani looked at his sister with pleading eyes, but Suzanne handed her the bag. Dani's betrayed face brought tears to Suzanne's eyes.<br />“He’s been using drugs for over a year. It was just pot at the beginning,” Suzanne said, looking guilty.<br />She didn’t know if there was a right way for a mother to react to such news. She stared at the needles and bottles inside the bag. Before she knew it, she slapped Dani with an anger her children had never seen before.<br />"Mama!" Suzanne cried out. <br />Nadia looked at her son's hurt face and knew she would regret that moment until her dying day.<br /><br />Dani in hell? Time passed. Minutes when she closed her eyes. Hours when she kept them open. Her husband was on his way, someone came in to tell her. He was going to pick up Suzanne from her dorm and bring her home. <br />My poor Suzanne. How will she take the news?<br />A lady she barely recognized woke her up to change her clothes. As the lady put a black dress over her head, a veil also seemed to drape over her body, over her entire being. Everything she experienced from then on she experienced through the black veil. <br />Suzanne, sobbing, put her arms around her, as if embracing her in slow motion. Her husband talked to her with tears in his eyes. He asked her questions. Was she supposed to know the answers?<br />They took her somewhere, she didn’t know where, she didn’t know what was expected of her. <br />“Can you walk?” someone asked her. “One step at a time,” she thought he said. “Here, I’ll hold on to you.”<br />They sat her on a chair. Suzanne sobbed on her right shoulder. Oscar held her left hand and looked forward, tears streamed down his face. She followed the direction of her husband’s stare. There he was. Dani, lying peacefully inside a dark coffin, his hands crossed over his chest. Her screams echoed inside the veil, and she was taken away. <br /><br />Time. Time again. It kept moving, although the hands on the clock didn’t make sense to her anymore. Sometimes she lay in bed, sometimes she walked around. Sometimes there was light in the room and sometimes everything was dark. Only Dani’s image became clear when she closed her eyes. Dani in flames. Dani screaming her name. She had to help him. She had to get him out of there. <br />My rosary, where is it? Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners...<br />The pain inside her chest was also real, but the veil had become too heavy. Sometimes, the veil would cover her soul so entirely she could almost reach out her hand and touch Dani’s. He seemed so close those times, but no matter how close she could never completely grab his hand to pull him out.<br />Mama...<br />“Mama,” she heard Suzanne say. “The doctor is here to see you.”<br />She recognized the doctor. He’d been visiting often. <br />“Have you thought about what I said last time?” he asked.<br />“I don’t remember,” she heard herself answer.<br />“Your blood pressure won’t go down. You need surgery. We talked about it before Dani died.”<br />“I couldn’t leave Dani.”<br />“It’s time now. If you wait any longer, it’s going to be too late.”<br />“Will I die?”<br />“Yes. There’s something clogging your arteries, and it’s weighing down on your heart. If you leave it unattended, you will die.”<br />If I recover, I will have a chance at a normal life again. I will attend Suzanne’s graduation. I will have to convince her to go back to school. I will be there when she gets married and has children. Oscar will retire and we will travel together, or stay home and help take care of our grandchildren. But will my life ever be the same? Could I recover from losing Dani? <br />“Nadia?”<br />Oh, Dani, why? “What did you give me?” <br />“What do you mean?” Dr. Martinez asked.<br />“The day Dani… when you came in, the day Dani…”<br />“Valium. I gave you a shot of valium.”<br />“Give me a prescription.”<br />“Nadia, the surgery.”<br />“No.”<br />“Nadia!”<br />“Please, tell my daughter I love her. Take care of her for me. Oscar won't be strong enough.”<br /><br />Time flew by. Days? Weeks? They went fast. She was again lying down. Suzanne sobbed on a chair, close to her. Oscar held Suzanne’s hand and stared into space. <br />“You hurt so much for him. You loved him more than anyone,” Suzanne said between sobs. <br />“It’s not that I loved him more,” she whispered in her daughter’s ear, wishing she could stroke her hair and ease her pain. “But right now, he needs me the most.” <br />The veil lifted from her soul. She arose from her coffin, and went in search of her son.<br />Now and at the hour of our death.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-10772615889245375922007-08-03T19:36:00.000-07:002007-09-17T20:11:17.661-07:00The Aimee Doll (Prologue and Chapter 1)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj32Xanj411Hih55Eh1ePG3UrYgJk-rjRjLk-tslUC23kN4D7BOR3vpwFWczxnBkeWnOnrBPQOT_JybMaHMidFB6qMYs1POHWHgwEl9V03rCtuh4hJceBfaP0LC7SE4g0gMoXG4Z8OXzI/s1600-h/Candy+wink.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj32Xanj411Hih55Eh1ePG3UrYgJk-rjRjLk-tslUC23kN4D7BOR3vpwFWczxnBkeWnOnrBPQOT_JybMaHMidFB6qMYs1POHWHgwEl9V03rCtuh4hJceBfaP0LC7SE4g0gMoXG4Z8OXzI/s200/Candy+wink.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111376454940390034" /></a><br /><em>Chicago Times<br />April 27, 1917<br /><br />In Danger of Closing</em><br /><em>Judy’s Home, an orphanage in the outskirts of Chicago, which has provided shelter to hundreds of children in the 30 years since it opened, might close if a debt of $3,500 is not met before the end of the fiscal year. Miss Aimee Allensworth, caretaker of the orphanage, is making a call to society to assist in keeping the orphanage open.<br />“We are hosting a fundraiser at Judy’s Home, and I am inviting the public in general, but especially those who have adopted from the orphanage, or anyone who has it in their hearts, to come participate of our fundraising event.”<br />Aimee also grew up at Judy’s Home. Twenty five years ago, she was found inside a basket, out in the white snow in front of the orphanage. The only connection between the baby girl and her previous life was a doll with the name Aimee stitched on her dress. <br />Aimee grew up under the care and supervision of Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen,<br />previous caretakers of the orphanage, and among the many children whom otherwise, did not have a proper family or home. <br />“I lived a happy life here at Judy’s Home,” states Aimee. “I felt protected and well taken care of. My desire is to be able to do the same for the children who still live at the orphanage and many other children who might come to be part of our home.”<br />The fundraiser includes a play by the children of the orphanage. The event will close with a formal ball. The night promises to be highly entertaining and will be attended by Chicago’s finest. For more information please contact the Chicago Times main office.</em><br /><br />“Here’s an article about the fundraiser for Judy’s Home,” says the husband to the lady, handing her that morning’s newspaper, while he sits at the dinning table with a large cup of coffee in front of him, a pipe between his lips, which he ignores, preferring to use his free hand to tug at the corner of his mustache.<br />The lady grabs the newspaper with an almost dismissive gesture. She first finishes giving instructions to the maid regarding the evening meal, then still holding the newspaper, hands her husband his briefcase. “You do not want to be late for work, dear. You have a meeting this morning with the bank’s president.”<br />After her husband leaves, she remembers the newspaper and goes into her sitting room to read it at her own leisure. She begins reading the society column with a smile on her face at the mention of the fundraising event she has often given advice on. Halfway through, she stops reading, since her mind refuses to accept the words she has read. She starts reading again from the beginning. Once she gets to the same part, she holds her breath and brings her small hand to rest on her chest in a futile attempt to stop her racing heart.<br />She looks around making sure there is no one within earshot, and reads the words a third time. This time she reads them aloud, to make sure she is not imagining them.<br />“Twenty five years ago, she was found inside a basket, out in the white snow in front of the orphanage. The only connection between the baby girl and her previous life was a doll with the name Aimee stitched on her dress.”<br />She walks to her secretary desk, retrieves a tiny pair of scissors and cuts out the article from the newspaper. She looks at the article one last time before putting it away, not reading it this time, just looking over it as if searching for more clues. She finally folds the piece of paper, walks over to her armoire, puts the clipped article inside the pocket of her folded white cloak, and rests her hand over the lump it forms. <br />“How can this be?” is the last thing she says before she closes the armoire doors and leaves the room, hopefully unseen. As an afterthought, she walks into the room again and throws the rest of the newspaper into the fire.<br /><br /><br /><a name="_Toc168079423"></a><a name="_Toc150745207"><strong>Chapter 1 </strong></a><strong>Dreams</strong><br /><br />The first rays of the sun, coming into the room through the small crack in the wooden wall, hit Aimee’s eyes and wake her up on this cold January morning. She covers her face with her pillow, trying to fall back into the blissful oblivion that was so hard to reach the previous night. She had another restless night, full of worries that had never plagued her before. Life seems to be getting more and more complicated with each passing day. Not that her life has always been easy, but she likes to find the bright side of things, she smiles and laughs and enjoys life. <br />“Enjoy everything you have, while you still have it,” was Sister Mary Helen’s advice to her when she was growing up.<br />And she had. As a child, she enjoyed her home, and Sister Mary Helen, and Miss Judy, and the food served on the table, and the friends to share it with. She knew she hadn’t been the best behaved child at the home. Every day she would wake up with the promise of a new fresh day, the promise to behave and be good, but sometimes there seemed to be an idea lingering on the back of her mind, and for some reason, bringing her idea into reality usually got her into trouble. Like the time she brought the baby skunk into the dormitory and hid it under the bed. The skunk had been well the first night, but he got scared the next morning when the other children started waking up and making noise. The smell could be felt for weeks afterwards, but she didn’t have to wait that long before Miss Judy called her into her office.<br />“Aimee, what were you thinking?” Miss Judy asked from behind her desk, with an expression that sometimes seemed to Aimee more a mix of amusement and bewilderment than real anger.<br />“I thought his mother had abandoned him in the forest, so I brought him to live with us,” she had explained. “Isn’t this the place for babies without mothers?”<br />For some reason, Miss Judy hadn’t said anything more, and she got out of that one easy.<br />If it wasn’t one of her ideas, then it was picking a fight with Nick. Nick liked to torment Nely, and poor Nely didn’t know how to defend herself, so it was up to Aimee to stand up to Nick. After all, she was faster and stronger than any other kid at the orphanage, and she could climb up on a tree and quickly escape if Nick or the other boys came after her.<br /><br />The memories make her smile and relax her enough to help her fall back into the blissful oblivion, until she feels a warm liquid fall on the side of the bed, wetting her blanket. The wet spot quickly turns cold, and a shiver makes her jump out of bed.<br />She is annoyed for a brief second, but she quickly laughs it off. “Josh must have peed his bed again.” She looks at the boy sleeping on the top bed. <br />“Oh, I’m too old to be sleeping in a bunker bed and getting peed on by a different kid every morning." <br />She looks down at her wet pajamas. "Now I will have to heat water to take a bath this early in the morning. Oh, well. A nice bath will cheer me up. It looks like it might be a beautiful day,” she murmurs, peaking through the window. She tiptoes out of the room, the old wooden floor screeching as she walks.<br />After her bath, she decides to take a walk. The cold morning air slaps her face when she opens the door, but she welcomes the feeling. As she walks on the snow, her steps take her on a path she knows only too well, her favorite place in the world, Judy’s Hill. On that hill she has laughed and cried, and climbed trees and lived life to the fullest, but on this morning, the path up the hill is making her melancholic. "What will I do now I no longer have a job?" she wonders.<br />The wind blows back her long black hair and intensifies the color of her rosy cheeks as she continues her walk up the hill. Will my dreams ever come true? She picks up a dry leaf from under a small tree, and with her finger traces its border. First, of course, I need to figure out what those dreams are.<br />Working in the hospital had been fun. Not many women were willing to struggle with a career, let alone medicine, but she had been lucky to get a fellowship from the Woman’s Medical Society. With additional income from Miss Judy and the pressure both funding sources created, she finished medical school in record time and with excellent grades. But a year later she was fired from the hospital during her first year of residency and had her license taken away. <br />She had meant well. Her friend Alex had come into the hospital unconscious after he had fallen from his horse. She recognized him immediately from his long blond hair, his ragged clothes and his scraggly beard. When the paramedics laid his bloodied figure onto the metal gurney she quietly made a promise to care for him until he got better, no matter the cost. <br />How could she not help him? He had been kind to her. He had saved her from driving down a cliff when she had decided to learn to use her adoptive family’s automobile, after her cousins had challenged her to do so. Alex had saved her life. The car… well, there wasn’t much to save after it fell down the cliff. Alex had miraculously appeared in her life every time she needed him. He was her guardian angel.<br />The hospital cared for him while he was unconscious, but once they realized Alex was a homeless person who could not pay his hospital charges, they discharged him. Aimee could not allow that to happen to her friend. She could not abandon him, because she knew he would never abandon her. While she was a doctor, she had to make sure he had the best medical care available. Aimee knew Alex was in no condition to return to the streets, so instead of signing his discharge papers she falsified an identity for him which allowed him to stay almost a week longer. When the hospital staff found out, they accused Aimee of violating every medical principle on the books.<br />“What about basic human principle?” she had protested. “He can’t take care of himself.” <br />The hospital replied they could not respond to every pro-bono case that came in. She was told in ridiculous ethical terms, her obligation as a doctor preceded human need. She was also reminded that, being a woman, she was lucky to be part of the hospital staff as it was. When she refused to accept their outrageous ways, she was fired.<br />Being fired from the hospital left her with no income to support herself, and loosing her license left her with no profession with which to find another job, so she returned to her childhood home-Judy’s Home. <br />As if the shame wasn’t enough, she had to tell Miss Judy she had failed once again. She failed at being adopted, failed at every relationship she had been involved in, and now she failed in her career.<br />Two days after returning to Judy’s Home, Miss Judy had called her into her office. She stood in front of the desk, with Miss Judy sitting behind it and Sister Mary Helen standing next to Miss Judy’s chair, but instead of lecturing her, Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen had been worried and sad, which was worse than the reprimand she was expecting. <br />“You were fired from the hospital for helping a homeless man?” Miss Judy asked her.<br />“He’s a friend,” she had explained.<br />“Where did you meet him?” Miss Judy wanted to know.<br />“He lived in a shack, in the woods close to Allensworth Manor.”<br />“Your adoptive family?”<br />“Yes. Them,” Aimee replied. <br />“Aimee, you must have been only a child back then. Why did you befriend a stranger? Didn’t you know better?” Miss Judy asked.<br />“He is the nicest person I know. You taught me not to judge by appearances, and apart from his living conditions he is a decent human being. He became my friend when I felt lonely and sad at Allensworth Manor. He was friendlier and easier to get along with than any of the society people I met during that time. And he didn’t deserve to be treated like he was at the hospital.”<br />“My child, you did well by helping another human being,” Miss Judy said with a very sad expression on her face. “But what will you do now?”<br />“I’m so sorry,” Aimee began to say with her eyes cast down. “I know you counted on me having a career of my own, and after all you’ve done for me I let you down…” She stopped talking when she realized neither woman was paying attention to her. Instead they were talking softly among themselves.<br />“She put her career at risk to help another human being,” Sister Mary Helen repeated.<br />“We must have done something right when raising this child,” Miss Judy agreed, “but what will become of her?”<br />“Miss Judy, this child is accumulating her fortune in heaven. She is on the right path, and I'm sure God will guide her.”<br /><br />"A reprimand from Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen would have been better than the sad look on their faces," she thinks to herself, reaching the top of the hill and sitting under the tall maple tree. "A good reprimand would have left me angry and I would’ve been able to fume it out eventually. Anger is easier to deal with, but having their sympathy hurts more, because I'm now left with the certainty I have disappointed the two people who care about me the most."<br />She brings her knees close to her and wraps her arms around them. From the top of the hill, she can see the valley covered in snow. To her right she can see smoke rising from the chimney of Judy’s Home. To her left, down on the lower part of the hill, she can see the river, now mostly frozen. Across the river pine trees agglomerate into a forest. Beyond the forest, but completely out of her sight, lays the Allensworth manor. Judy’s Home and the Allensworth manor are two places that, to Aimee, are as different as heaven and Earth.<br />Legally she is still part of the Allensworths, but she might as well not be. She hasn’t been back to the mansion since she was expelled from St. Francis Academy, some six years ago. The Allensworth matriarch, Aunt Evangeline made it clear in a letter to Aimee the scandal she created after her expulsion from the finishing school was unacceptable. If Aunt Evangeline found out about her expulsion from the hospital she would completely be disowned by the family. Aimee wonders what would scandalize Aunt Evangeline more, the fact that she was fired from the hospital, or the fact that she took the patient home with her to care for him herself after he'd been discharged from the hospital. <br />Hopefully no one will find out about that.<br />Not that it matters. She is not planning to return to the Allensworth manor any time soon. The only person in that family who seemed to care about her at all was the head of the family, her benefactor, but she had never met him in person. He had often communicated with her through letters, but he was a very busy man, and didn’t have time to deal with the details and misfortunes of her life.<br />Her life is up to her now. And the truth is that she has a world of possibilities open to her. Granted, she can no longer practice medicine, but she still has the knowledge she gained during medical school. <br />It would be wonderful to be able to put that knowledge to good use, she thinks. Certainly Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen would approve of that. <br />She thinks of her possibilities. One of them is to join the army. Maybe they will let her be a nurse. She thinks about this idea for a while and ends up discarding it. She hates the reality of war. <br />So, if not the army, maybe I can use my knowledge of medicine to help cure the poor and needy. That sounds more worthwhile. She could become a missionary. Missionaries help take care of the poor and sick, they build hospitals and schools. Or even a nun. <br />I could ask Sister Mary Helen about becoming a nun! Miss Judy will also be happy when I tell her I am considering this possibility. This will make it up to them.<br />She stands up, brushes the snow from her coat with her hands and walks down the hill back to Judy’s Home. Judging by the position of the sun, she realizes she is late for breakfast. She debates whether to go into the kitchen to find some leftovers, or go directly into the chapel, where she knows Sister Mary Helen will be at this hour. She touches her stomach, which makes a growling noise and finally decides her new career can wait until after she’s had something to eat.<br /><br />“It’s a very demanding job, Aimee,” Sister Mary Helen tells her.<br />Aimee had sought her after a large bowl of oatmeal. She had gone into the tiny chapel and waited until Sister Mary Helen finished saying the rosary to talk to her. <br />Now both women sit in one of the few benches and Aimee has Sister Mary Helen’s full attention. <br />“But do you think I can do it?” Aimee asks. <br />“Oh, child, I don’t mean to discourage you, but is that really the path you want? I mean, if you are getting a call from the Lord to join the convent I would be more than pleased to help you, but are you sure about this?”<br />“How do I know if I’ve had a calling?” Aimee asks, wondering if thinking about it on the hill counted as one.<br />Sister Mary Helen laughs at her question. “It’s something you feel deep down in your heart. It’s what you want to do more than anything else in the whole wide world. Is that what it feels like for you, Aimee?”<br />Aimee turns her head to the side. “I’m not sure if I want to do it more than anything in the world, but it would be a good thing to do, wouldn’t it?”<br />“Of course it would, but the Lord calls each one of us to do different things in life, and you must follow your heart to know which one is the one for you.”<br />Aimee must have looked more confused than ever, because Sister Mary Helen continues talking to her in a very gentle tone. <br />“If you consecrate your life to the convent, there are things you will have to give up.”<br />“Like what?”<br />“You give up your will in favor of the will of the church. You have to learn to submit yourself to the orders of others.” Sister Mary Helen pauses, looking intently at her.<br />“I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not very good at following orders.”<br />Sister Mary Helen laughs again, nodding slightly. “Also, you might be required to move far away from here.”<br />“But wouldn’t I be able to come back?”<br />“Only if you get an approval.”<br />“I wouldn’t like that at all,” Aimee admits. “My life in the hands of others.”<br />“It’s not the only thing to consider, Aimee. You have learned what it’s like to fall in love. Are you willing to give that up completely?”<br />“I would willingly give up the heartaches.”<br />“Of course, child, but what I am talking about is, are you willing to give up being loved by a man? Are you willing to give up the gift of being a mother and having a family of your own?”<br />“I hadn’t thought about that. I guess I always took for granted the idea I would eventually get married and have a family of my own.”<br />“Then, my dear, think about it. You don’t have to make a decision such as this one right away. It would be better for you to wait this one out.”<br />Sister Mary Helen leaves the chapel to go tend to the children when they call her, and Aimee remains sitting on the bench, feeling even more miserable. If not the convent, then what will I do with my life? The missions are still an option, but just like in the convent, it would probably require her to go far away from here. When was the last time I knew for certain what I wanted to do with my life?<br />She thinks back to the times she was in love. Even then, she wasn’t certain if a life with them is what she wanted. With her first love, they were still too young. He died in a terrible accident, and she mourned his death for a long time. Her second love broke her heart when he married another girl.<br />She could definitely live without any more heartaches, but Sister Mary Helen brought up a very important point. Aimee is not willing to give up love. She wants to get married and raise a family of her own. She dreams of having the family she wished she had grown up with. Deep down in her heart she knows this is what she wants to do more than anything else in the world. <br />When she hears her name called, she stands up from the bench and goes out into the main area of the house. A few steps out of the chapel, she comes to an abrupt halt when she sees the children gathered in front of her, with Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen standing in front of them. Miss Judy holds a cake in her hands, with lit candles on top.<br />“Surprise!” they yell in unison.<br />“Happy birthday, Aimee!” Sister Mary Helen cheerfully says.<br />“Happy birthday, Aimee!” The children yell at the top of their voices.<br />Miss Judy looks at her with an endearing smile. “Happy birthday, my dear child.”<br />Aimee is taken aback by the surprise. She has lost track of her days since she came back to Judy’s Home. But she should have been aware, at least, that it was late January, and that at Judy’s Home her birthday is celebrated on the day she was found out in the snow, in front of the orphanage.<br /> “Miss Judy! Sister Mary Helen! You remembered.”<br />“My child, how could we forget your birthday? You have been an essential part of this home since the first day you came to live with us,” Miss Judy says.<br />“Yes, Aimee,” Josh adds, “you have been with us forever.”<br />Aimee looks down at the boy and tries to convince herself that he means it in a nice way. She has to admit she comes back to Judy’s Home quite frequently. <br />Soon, the children start hurrying her by singing, “We want cake! We want cake!”<br />Aimee laughs and accepts the cake from Miss Judy’s hands. She puts the cake on the table and proceeds to cut it and hand it out to the children. Josh playfully sticks his finger into the cake and uses the icing to decorate Aimee’s nose. The children laugh at his mischievousness, and Aimee laughs with them.<br />She looks around herself, at the cute expectant faces of the children. I do want a family of my own. I want my life full of moments like this one. The children’s faces convince her she doesn’t want to go into the convent. Still, that certainty doesn’t help her in her search for a new career, but maybe there’s no reason to hurry that decision either. Maybe she can stay at Judy’s Home longer than she planned, and help out around the home. There’s more than enough work to do, and that way she will be able to enjoy the company of the children and Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen for a while longer.<br />Someone knocks at the door and Miss Judy goes to answer it. She comes back into the room with a gentleman walking next to her. “Aimee, you have a visitor,” she announces.<br />Aimee looks up from the cake and the children. At first she has some trouble recognizing the visitor. He is dressed in formal business attire, with his long blond hair styled back, clean shaven face and a bouquet of red roses in his hands. <br />“Happy birthday, Aimee.”<br />It isn’t until she hears his voice that she realizes the man in front of her is Alex.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5121598930818130499.post-18318041189135507282007-07-06T09:12:00.000-07:002007-08-12T11:49:06.947-07:00Best of Two Worlds (Prologue)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYB9HgWg-3F6vU1CRnY_cCAYIkqPyXC6EEM-7N3NhtzBwy9dfRFvOGDJrM7WPg576dEhC4Sc_8WxCN0WwSBEMSip0l5X0Tq4mmF173nv2Eq3qtzXJgJTPUxrY_xTYIc6yWENaF33VIGI/s1600-h/PR+Silver+Panam.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYB9HgWg-3F6vU1CRnY_cCAYIkqPyXC6EEM-7N3NhtzBwy9dfRFvOGDJrM7WPg576dEhC4Sc_8WxCN0WwSBEMSip0l5X0Tq4mmF173nv2Eq3qtzXJgJTPUxrY_xTYIc6yWENaF33VIGI/s400/PR+Silver+Panam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097887976869839058" /></a><br />Rancy Salas inserted his credit card into the ticket machine at the Newark airport and stared at the monitor as two different itineraries appeared under his name. One was a first class ticket to London, the other a coach class ticket to Aguadilla, Puerto Rico. Both flights left at approximately the same time.<br />"Good morning, Mr. Salas," a ticket attendant greeted after checking his driver's license. She looked at her own monitor on the other side of the counter. "Oh, it seems you're booked for two different flights," she chanted, and looking up at Rancy, "Which one would you prefer, sir?"<br />Rancy understood every other word she said. An improvement over the last few weeks. Twelve years of English classes had not prepared him for fast conversations. Either that or he should've paid more attention in class instead of skipping English at least two days a week to play sports with his friends. He wondered how long it would be before he could have a fluent conversation. Enough to convince a pretty girl-like the one in front of him-to go out for drinks, without sounding like an idiot. He forced a smile before returning his stare to the monitor one more time and nodding, more to himself than to her. "Puerto Rico," he said feeling defeated. He would have to go home feeling like a loser. On the up side, it was so much easier to talk to girls there. Besides, New Jersey was cold and gray. London, well, he had no idea.<br />The attendant looked at him as if urging him to confirm his decision. He noticed her curly dark hair and looked at her name tag. It read Mariely Perez. There was hope after all. "Si, por favor. Puerto Rico."<br />"Porto-Ricou it is, then," she said and proceeded to complete his check-in process.<br />She's been here too long, he concluded. Newyorican, I bet.<br />"Would you like me to check-in that bag for you, sir?" she asked.<br />He stared at her until she pointed to the round leather case under his left arm. "No, no. Yo…," he patted his chest with his free hand, "with me." The leather case had been a gift from his family when they had last gathered to throw him a good luck party. He opened the bag to show her its content--his basketball.<br />The flight attendant opened her eyes in recognition. "Oh my gosh, you're that rookie! Great game the other night! I was watching with my father. He was so proud of the team, but then he got so pis… I mean, so angry, and'a…<br />Rancy smiled, brow furrowed as he tried to follow, until her large brown eyes grew even larger and she suddenly stopped rambling.<br />"Oh, oh, I see. So you've decided not to go to the Olympics? You're not going to London? Your name's all over the news."<br />Olympics was a word he easily recognized. It had been in his vocabulary from the time he was three-years-old. He scratched the back of his head and looking down at his shoes he shook his head. "Not for different country," he said. He hadn't been able to sleep the last couple of nights. Not since the offer was given to him. He was tired. He wanted to go home.<br />Her expression saddened. "But you have to…" It seemed she wanted to say more, but a person who apparently was her supervisor came to see if she needed help. The line behind Rancy was getting longer. The flight attendant reluctantly handed him his ticket and after thanking her, he walked in the direction she pointed, towards gate C-114A.Celestinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15471140388172112663noreply@blogger.com1